Passions out of Time (An Era Apart Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  PASSIONS OUT OF TIME

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  PASSIONS OUT OF TIME

  Book 3 In The Trilogy An Era Apart

  CHRIS LANGE

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  PASSIONS OUT OF TIME

  Copyright©2016

  CHRIS LANGE

  Cover Design by Anna Lena-Spies

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-266-9

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  To my family

  for their unconditional love and support.

  Acknowledgements

  All my thanks to the fabulous Soul Mate Publishing team, in particular Debby Gilbert and Caroline Tolley.

  Prologue

  Streetlamps lit the city of London, mostly deserted at this late hour. Horses’ hooves clattered in the distance as a few carriages still made their way from late-night theatres to residential houses. A stray cat meowed, the barking of dogs taking over its mournful cry. Then quietness settled over the town.

  In the Mayfair Burnes’ manor, a couple slept on a large bed, legs entwined. The woman twitched in her slumber and the man instinctively drew her closer to him. They lay in each other’s arms, lost in the land of dreams. An empty box sat on the nightstand, the engagement ring on the woman’s finger reflecting shards of moonlight.

  A window rattled, betrayed by a gust of wind. In the dead of night, the bedroom door opened. Three shadows stood in the doorway, silent, motionless. Like ominous birds of prey, they watched the sleeping lovers. One of the dark silhouettes shifted and a hypodermic needle gleamed in the moon’s pallid radiance. As one, the three shadows swooped down on the bed.

  Chapter 1

  “I do.”

  Garrett’s eyes shone in the semi-gloom of the chapel as the priest turned to Tracy and articulated the customary text, binding her to the man who forsook his family, his birthright, and his whole life for her.

  “I do.”

  Her voice quivered, with too much happiness constricting her throat and making her fingers tremble.

  They got married in her world. Looking proud, her dad had patted her hand as they walked the aisle before he delivered her to the groom. She smiled at Garrett, her vision blurring when his loving gaze enveloped her.

  With few people invited, the small church looked vast in the sunset, shards of weakening light piercing the narrow, stained-glass windows. The cool air smelled a little musty, although a warmer breeze ruffled the willow trees outside and lifted the sides of the tablecloths under the large wedding pavilion tent.

  For the occasion, Jake Cooper left his Colts and weapon belt at home. He’d grumbled at first, but her twenty-first-century friends wouldn’t understand why a stranger carried guns in California.

  Jessica dabbed her eyes as rose petals fell on their heads when they descended the chapel steps. But she seemed to recover and took hold of her bad boy’s hand.

  When would those two finally tie the knot?

  Garrett squeezed Tracy’s elbow to prompt her toward the reception tent large enough to accommodate over twenty people. As she lifted the hem of her wedding dress, an exuberant white mass careened across the lawn and almost bumped into her legs before vigorously licking her arm.

  She let go of the delicate fabric to stroke the wolfdog’s head, to run her fingers through his soft hair, and to scratch the ridge between his eyes. White Fur whimpered with pleasure while Weedon flashed her an apologetic grin. She didn’t mind the dog’s rough manners in the least, she was glad they’d both left their universe to see her marry Garrett.

  Even Timothy came. His new girlfriend standing by his side, he’d congratulated Garrett, his warm words sounding sincere. They all lived in Sausalito now, and if both men got along, future gatherings would be simpler.

  All her friends also attended the ceremony. Halfway between the chapel and the tables, Alyson and Michelle listened with attention to Josh while he waved his arms up and down to describe his latest volleyball moves. Donna stood not far from them, eyeing the pavilion tent and nodding to her husband. Still outside the church, Curt and Lloyd talked with animation to Alicia.

  They still believed Garrett to be a very distant relative from Nebraska. The white lie didn’t hurt anyone and allowed her to dodge a long string of complicated and pretty unbelievable explanations.

  A strange sound reached her ears. She tilted her head, looking for the source of the noise, but nothing appeared amiss. The reception meal would soon be served and they’d all share a wonderful evening.

  A gust of wind chilled her arms. She glanced at Garrett to see if he’d heard the weird whimpering, but he was smiling at her dad. She must be too tense, too wound up to fully enjoy the moment.

  Andrew didn’t come, but that was no surprise. Even if he’d wanted to, his parents would never have authorized him to attend. They’d disowned Garrett before chucking him out of their lives forever. He used to be the eldest son, the rightful heir of the Burnes’ empire. He was now the disgrace they probably never mentioned at dinner parties or at court.

  She’d have loved to see Andrew one more time. Garrett’s brother had been charming to her the only time she went to London, as well as very supportive of her. He deserved more than what would someday become his. Money and power didn’t make up for love and happiness.

  She missed Raphael most. Was her guardian vampire still alive? Did he find what he was looking for in the company of Khrull, the immortal who had almost killed her? Did he sometimes lurk around Garrett’s old mansion on Nob Hill to catch her scent, or was he a prisoner? So many questions she’d never have
the answers to.

  Her muscles bunched up when she heard the sound again, like a plaintive sob echoing around the lawn. She darted her head from side to side, but people laughed and conversed, having a good time and oblivious of the odd noise. What kind of animal could utter such a desperate whine?

  Garrett let go of her hand. She cast him a glance as his fingers released hers, and her insides stiffened. He smiled at her, but his face began to fade. One second after another, he melted away and disappeared.

  Her chest tightened, preventing her from breathing. She wheeled round, only to find an empty lawn without a wedding tent, tables, or people. No, this couldn’t be happening. But they were gone, vanished just as she finally touched happiness. The wailing in her ears intensified and she woke up crying.

  Another goddam night she’d never recapture. Hours of much-needed sleep wasted on a destructive dream she knew by heart. Because the same images toyed with her mind over and over, without ever freeing her.

  Dawn came at last, its pinkish glow holding the promise of a new day without brooding over her lost love. Today, like yesterday, last week, and the month before that, she intended to make the most of her waking hours.

  After the shower, in front of the bathroom mirror, she applied moisturizing cream on her face, especially under her eyes. Her clients might not appreciate dark rings or possibly imagine she spent her nights partying.

  Then she hurried through the morning motions, determined not to be late in case the guys showed up early at the gallery. Delivery days were too important to be wasted over a bad night’s sleep.

  She hit the brakes hard and stopped inches short of the car in front of her. Damn that asshole, why did he slow down to let the old lady cross the street? Did he enjoy being late for work, or did he need a brain transplant? But if she didn’t calm down in the next second, she’d cause an accident.

  Taking a long, deep breath, Tracy focused on her driving while counting to ten. She had no intention of killing anyone, even though the nightmare struck her hard last night. So bad in fact that she felt the urge to get up, force water down her parched throat and change her T-shirt, damp with sweat.

  As if being torn from the recurrent, gut-wrenching images wasn’t enough, she had to do all that stuff quietly and without flicking the lights on so as not to wake Johnny. Having nightmares from time to time happened, but he wouldn’t understand why she wept in her dreams so often.

  She didn’t want to give him the real reason because thinking of Garrett or talking about Garrett still twisted her insides and brought undesired tears. He belonged to the past and he had to stay there. He’d never again disrupt her present or future, so what was the point in mentioning him?

  She had a new life now. She worked long hours at the gallery, saw her friends on a regular basis, and had even achieved some kind of status quo with her father. Most of all, she loved being with Johnny.

  He deserved way better than being thrown into the ugly truth of her past. He actually deserved her undivided attention and she’d do anything to spare him, to build a fresh and happy life for the both of them without dragging along an old ball and chain.

  The light turned green. Tracy put her foot down, impatient to reach the gallery before traffic got too heavy. Maybe she’d better walk to work, at least on sunny days. How long would it take? Fifteen minutes at most and she wouldn’t get so wound up behind the wheel. Definitely an idea to consider.

  Cars already lined up the street as usual. She drove round the block and found a parking spot just behind the bakery. Not bad for a Monday morning. Keys in hand, she strode to the back door.

  Lorie wasn’t in yet. She rarely came before eleven on Mondays, but that would give Tracy ample time to deal with the delivery. Once in her office, she switched on the coffee maker before listening to her voice mail.

  Mister Swanson from the Community Charity Association had left two messages on Friday evening. Unlike Garrett’s features, body, and voice, the gala completely slipped her mind. Damn!

  Where would she find a dress before tonight? Did she have time to go shopping? She was supposed to buy the gown two days ago but she’d spent the weekend with Johnny. Grabbing her ‘Tracy’ mug from the cabinet, she then poured coffee and blew on the hot liquid before taking a sip.

  She glanced sideways as a shadow appeared in the doorway. The delivery guys were right on time.

  “Good morning,” the tallest man said, “you left the back door open.”

  “I know, Allen, I was waiting for you. Would you mind unloading the whole lot in the front room?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Thanks.”

  He went back outside while she set the mug down on her desk and picked up her order book. If nothing went wrong, he’d be delivering twenty-three paintings today and she’d have a full plate.

  Potential buyers tended to be interested in new artists and the collection she was receiving this morning would thrill them. Since the beginning of the year, bright colors, heavy brushstrokes, and vivid imagination caught their full attention. She shouldn’t have any trouble selling her last batch.

  Allen and his help went past her office, each carrying a large frame. She followed them to the front of the gallery.

  “Where do you want them?”

  “Against this wall, please. I’ll sort them out later.”

  She watched them as they handled the pictures with care, set them straight, and then went back to the truck to fetch the rest of the collection.

  She never painted anymore. Garrett’s portrait had been her last work before she abandoned her brushes for good. Although it hurt to look at his once-cherished face, she’d taken the painting out of the closet on a gray, rainy afternoon. Her last and only visual reminder of the man she used to love.

  “Sorry, guys, I’m in your way.”

  “We’re good, don’t worry.”

  She moved to the side while the deliverymen brought in four smaller frames and righted them against the wall. As they walked away, she sat on her favorite high stool and looked through the window.

  Some men and women ambled past with cappuccinos in their hands, others hurried to work, cell phones glued to their ears. Across the street, patrons gobbled pastries on the terrace of the coffee house. A typical morning in a regular Californian small town, and why did she feel so lonely?

  The nightmare still hung over her. For a brief moment, she believed her old dream came true. Garrett abandoned everything for her. He crossed over to her world and, true to his word, he married her in a beautiful chapel with all their friends gathered around them. Except that it never happened.

  The rightful heir to the Burnes’ empire didn’t have the leisure to fall in love with an American lowborn. He did stray from the rigorous path dictated by his family, but not for long. No, his destiny caught up with him before he even realized it. His parents and her beloved father saw to that.

  Where was her dad today? He didn’t give her a call last week, and she hoped he was okay. Maybe she should pay him a visit on Bonita Street after closing the gallery. No doubt she’d find him working in the basement. That was fine except that the sight of the telepod pinched her heart every time.

  How often had she used the traveling device back when adventure, danger, and excitement filled her days? After she stepped inside for the very first time, she’d found Garrett on the other side, waiting for her.

  So handsome and haughty. So unlike the men she was used to. Clad in his stiff three-piece suit, he looked both dashing and forbidding and her heart started beating in a different way. From the first second till the last one.

  “Over here, Miss?”

  Although Allen stood right beside her, his voice seemed to come from far away. She had to stop daydreaming.

  “Yes, that’s fine.”

  “This is the last
one. I need a signature.”

  “Sure.”

  He followed her to her office, the soft squeak of his shoes on the floorboards accompanying them all the way to her desk. With the paper signed, he clipped it to a folder while his help headed for the truck.

  “Thanks, Allen, see you next month.”

  “Next month it is.”

  She closed the back door behind him, too late remembering that she forgot to count the paintings. What if one was missing? Shit, but this happened far too often. She’d have a bad surprise one of these days and Lorie would give her an earful.

  Rightfully so.

  Lips pursed, she hurried back to the front room of the gallery. Beams of sunlight streamed through the large window now, brightening the canvases covered with protective, thick brown cloths. She made her way along the wall, focused on the job, her fingers barely resting on each piece as she kept count while moving forward.

  When she reached number twenty-three, she let out a relieved but troubled breath. Things needed to change. Despite Johnny and the nice life she led, the past assaulted her whenever she let her guard down. She couldn’t go on like this. Surely, there must be a way out of this hurtful deadlock.

  She didn’t even feel like sorting out the paintings or opening the gallery. Streaks of light fell on her shoulder, but the weight compressing her mind didn’t relent. Did she still possess the ability to care?

  The phone rang. Probably a potential buyer inquiring after the new collection or an unsatisfied customer asking for a refund. Whatever, as long as depressing thoughts stopped harassing her. Glad for the respite, she dashed back to her desk, checked the caller ID and hit the button.

  “Hi, Mister Swanson, how are you?”

  He was fine, of course, they all were. Everybody lived in happy-happy-land except her. But when she ended the call with the promise to attend the gala tonight, she dialed the number scribbled on a piece of paper.